


Sherlock 2035

by AgnesNutterWhy (agnesanutter)



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock (TV) RPF
Genre: And I'm Okay With That - Freeform, Cryogenics, Far Future, Other, Science Fiction, This is the crackiest thing I've written
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-26
Updated: 2015-05-26
Packaged: 2018-04-01 09:29:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4014544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agnesanutter/pseuds/AgnesNutterWhy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The lengths to which a fan goes to ensure she sees the new world.</p><p>+++++</p><p>A review from my best friend who read this upon my insistence:</p><p>"I hate you. I hate you so much."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sherlock 2035

She falls forward, gasping for air and coughing when it finally enters her lungs. She feels as if she's drowning but it's the exact opposite, steeling herself she tries inhaling air again with a large gasp. This time there is no cough as the oxygen makes it's way , filling her lungs, finally working again on their own after they've been all but dormant, barely there for  years, waiting along with the rest of her. 

She'd signed up on a whim. Ridiculous really to make such a decision on a whim. She'd walked in and looked around , curious of the others reasons.  A few homeless people for sure, she thought. At least if the stench was any indicator.  

No one was talking in the small waiting room and so she piped up and started asking questions. Where was everyone from, what was their stories. She met Michaela who felt this was only option given how many mistakes she'd made. Timothy had sat with a blade for hours before deciding this was the better option. She, she said to them when they finally asked her, was on a mission. The room quieted when she said that so she didn't continue.

Maybe it was the worry that she was a zealot, maybe it was the idea that she didn't seem to belong, having no story like theirs but she didn't mind.  Silence was golden after all, like sunlight like they say. 

Showered, cleaned, head shaved, and given a white tunic and trousers. All her possessions taken away and placed in a box with a security code she set.  A group interview later showed her everyone else was dressed and shaved similarly. No one looked away from the screen as they all took the group oath. Later she was asked to record a video giving her true consent to be placed in the prolonged sleep. She gave her consent willing and was placed in the chamber. Her last waking thoughts were, _What if they fuck it up?'_

And here she was twenty years later. The seals popped with a hiss. The sound of trickling water draining away, a gentle hum of machines whirring away.  She first started to choke  on the tube down her throat but then a mechanical arm came into view, removed the and it coiled away into the wall. Finally she fell forward and gasped for air. 

The white room was empty save for a chair and table. On top was a suit case and the box she placed her possessions in. She remembered them. The code. She couldn't forget. It's always that number. Always that year. She moves her big toe and laughs. That is good. That is something.  Then hubris takes over and she moves to take a step forward then she falls on her face.

"It's fine," she says aloud to no one, assuring really only herself, voice gravely she repeats. "It's all fine." 

Her arms work and her legs are getting there so she crawls forward until she's at the chair, pulls herself up,  and takes a seat. She starts to shiver,  her teeth chatter. She hunches over hoping to retain her body heat but she realizes with a laugh that the ice probably didn't leave much to retain. Then she hears a click and then the room gets warmer until she's able to relax. Her shoulders loosen, she takes a breath.

She opens the suitcase and finds clothes that she picked out to wear this day. She takes them out one by one and finds a note at the bottom of the suitcase. A letter addressed to her dated twenty years in the future from the last date she remembers. She guesses that day must be today.

The letter reads:

_Good Morning Participant 1-29,_

_Please find these clothes you have selected as well as the security box containing your possessions.  Your participation was greatly appreciated. You will be contacted for an interview regarding your findings in approximately 7 days time._

_In addition to your possessions , please find payment  as well as a communication device in the colour of your choosing._  

She smiles and looks around. She tries to stand again and she finds that she can move again. There is a small toilet, shower, sink  in the corner of the room which she uses.  She makes liberal use of the new tooth brush and tooth paste,  gargles with the mouthwash and then finally looks in the mirror. It's her, bald still.  She doesn't look any different from the last time she saw herself. 

She showers even though she's basically been having a bath for the past two decades. She presses buttons until the temperature gets just right and then presses another and the a few spurts of soap and what appears to be purposeless shampoo. It feels good, she thinks, and so she remains under the spray longer than she needs.  She thinks back on all those stories, all those showers and what happened next, what _always_ happened next. She bites her lip and knows it's time to face it. To literally face the future.

With a click everything ceases and she moves away,  finds a towel as large as a sheet and wraps it around herself , dries off. She isn't as stiff and moves to the desk and opens the suitcase. Everything is there as she chose. A t-shirt prompting a question that few asked, her most comfortable pair of jeans, trainers, her pretty red bra and panty set.  She gets dresses, then moves to the secure box. Inputs the code. Always, Always then finds a small bag with a phone. Payment ,she guesses, must be on the small card.

She looks around at the windowless room. she doesn't have happy memories of the place and yet she takes one last brief look before turns the handle on the door and pushes open.  It opens to another room which is large but also empty. She looks up. It's like a large dome, a ceiling. A cathedral, her brain supplies. But no art is there, she imagines what her favorites would've done with such a canvas. She wonders what they were doing when the moment came.

She walks slowly, her steps echoing with each movement and then she gets to what appears to be the only door. 

She walks outside and looks up. Sun check. Clouds check. She looks around then. People. Check. They are moving about on the pavement going there and there. Life has continued and gone on. She doesn't know who to ask first. She doesn't know who would know? Would everyone know? She is in London. Surely someone here would know.  Her nerves get to her and as a woman gets close to her.  She opens her mouth bu no words come out. She says nothing. The woman walks by without noticing a thing.

So she begins walking, falling in step with the rest of the crowd.  Somehow she keeps walking until she is in Regent's. She walks the whole of it and then she knows exactly where to go, who to ask. Her steps pick up and then in an instant she starts running with a manic glee.   Finally she's there and she walks up to the small building.  The place is still there, green and vibrant sign out front. There are no visitors waiting to go in, so she walks over and enters.

Sat behind a desk is a man who looks familiar but she can't quite place him. He looks like, but no.  He has kind eyes and a kind smile to match. He looks up at her but stays silent, as if he knows she needs time to ask, to form the words, to bring years of waiting to an end.

"Excuse me," she says. "May I ask you a question?"

"You mean another," The man says. "And you may." He smiles and there is a twinkle in his eye. 

"I've been away for a while," She explains. "I wasn't here when." She stops. She knows she has to simply ask and yet it could have all gone so very wrong.

"Ask," he says. "It's why they brought me back after all." He wrinkles his nose and his mustache wrinkles right along. She smiles and his name floats to surface again. It can't be but it's years later maybe it is. Maybe they found a way.

"It's the year 2035, right?"

He screws up his face. "Is that what you wanted to ask me?"

"No, I just-- I need to make sure."

"Ahh. Yes, it is 2035."

"Okay,"  she says, takes a breath. "Is Johnlock canon?"

"Some would say the proper term is canonical," he says. "But if you're asking me if the characters John Watson and Sherlock Holmes are in a romantic relationship then the answer is an emphatic yes."

She cannot stop the laugh bubbling up through her and she wouldn't want to stop it. It's the happiest feeling she has ever felt in her entire life. She closes her eyes, curls her toes, and a shiver runs through her.

The man says nothing. As if this is a thing he's witnessed many times. When she opens her eyes she notices his hand is out,  inviting her to sit in the chair opposite him. She sits down and leans forward.

"I'll tell you about it," he says. His Scottish accent is so light but still makes the word sound like "tell ye." She smiles.

"Please?" she says.  "Tell me, tell me everything." 

**Author's Note:**

> Okay references explained
> 
>  
> 
> 1) 1/29 --The day they met  
> 2) Red Pants  
> 3) The code was 1895  
> 4) That was the clone of Arthur Conan Doyle. They can clone in the future and they use it for really awesome things like this.  
> 5) That was the Sherlock Holmes Museum  
> 6) Slight TJLC reference  
> 7) That was kinda a pink suitcase but I didn't say ...but in my head it's a pink one like in ASIP
> 
> WHAT WAS THAT?
> 
> Written in about an hour.  
> Probably needs a good edit or to be destroyed.  
> OMG SOMEONE EMAIL MARK GATISS and SEVEN MOFFAT A COPY OF THIS SHIT. That'll encourage them to make it so for sure.  
> Note: Do not email anyone a copy of this.  
> I actually had other things I really needed to be doing when I wrote this.
> 
> Delete This.....


End file.
